


I Wanna Rock You Hard This Christmas

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Bang Your Head (Metal Health) [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Modern Era, Modern Thedas, Performance, Singing, Sorta Smutty, dirty songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amallia and Cullen go out for their regular karaoke night with their friends the week of Christmas and exchange gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Rock You Hard This Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I prompted myself ...

****

“C’mon, Cullen, we need to leave,” Amallia called from his doorway.

“I know, stop rushing me!”

If Amallia didn’t know any better, she would think Cullen an old man, unable to move faster than a snail at times. She fanned at her face, heavy winter coat and scarf heating her uncomfortably as she stood near the door. Quick thumping steps rang from the hallway and Cullen rounded the corner only to stop dead in his tracks as he spotted her

His eyes started at her black heels, red soles giving them a hidden flair. Up along the length of her stockinged legs, he drank her in, and though her coat covered her dress, she knew he was enthralled by her appearance. Curled hair and smoky eyes, she waited for him to move, to smile, to do  _something_  instead of just standing there, gawking.

“You’re being creepy again,” she jested.

Cullen gave himself a shake at the sound of her voice, brow knit in mild confusion. “Sorry. That was rude …” he apologized as he approached her, hands settling at her waist and lips brushing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“I was teasing, love,” Amallia replied as she stalked around him to admire his appearance. “Besides, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

Cullen looked down at his black boots, slim grey slacks, black shirt and tie. “I look like I’m going to a funeral,” he stated flatly as she slowly stalked around.

“Not with  _those_  pants, you aren’t,” she mumbled from behind him and when Cullen looked over his shoulder at her, she made no effort to hide that she was staring at his ass. When she knew he’d caught her, she flicked her eyes up to his, peering through her lashes with a smirk.

She squealed in mock protest as Cullen swiftly turned and wrapped his arms about her waist, picked her up, and planted a hard, quick kiss to her lips. When they broke apart, his grin widened. “If I am not allowed to ogle you, then you shouldn’t be allowed to ogle me.”

“I was only returning your appreciation,” she pouted. “But we do need to get going, the others are waiting.”

He groaned as he returned her to her feet. “Do we have to go? Can’t we trade gifts somewhere else?”

“Cullen,” Amallia admonished. “We hardly see these people outside of your work. They’re our friends. I figured karaoke night would be as good a time as any.” She headed for the door and picked up her bag, heavier than usual; Cullen’s present was nestled squarely atop its usual contents.

“I know. I just … wanted to complain a little,” he sighed as he shrugged on his coat and opened the door. “I’ve actually been looking forward to today for about a week, now.”

She followed him out of his apartment and down the hall. “Is that so? What changed? Last week you were dreading it.”

He withdrew a grey bag from his heavy bomber jacket, considering it with a quick look. “Finally figured this out,” he said with a grin and Amallia could only giggle in response.

When they reached the elevators and the door opened, Cullen made to push for the ground button, but Amallia stopped him. “Garage.”

With a questioning quirk of his brow, Cullen pressed the “L” button. “I sure hope you’re driving …”

“Of course. I’d flay you alive if you  _ever_  drove your fastback in the snow,” she scolded as the elevator lurched into motion.

Cullen hummed a laugh, apparently amused by her threat. “I am not that dumb, I promise,” he insisted. “Although, I’d like to drive you some place eventually.”

When the elevator door opened, Amallia stalked into the garage, heading for her car. “I assure you, I am equally eager for you to drive me around in that car. But I am far _more_  eager to drive it, myself,” she said with such a moan she worried Cullen may have gotten the wrong idea.

“I … you know, I really want to see that,” he admitted after a second thought.

She paused at the door to her car, intrigued. “Is that so?” she asked and Cullen nodded in agreement as he opened his door and entered her car, Amallia quickly following.

The engine roared to life, amplified by the surrounding cement of the garage, and within seconds, they were out to the street and on their way to The Herald’s Rest. _Take 5_ drowned out the rumble of the exhaust as Amallia sped along, shifting precisely.

“Well, this is a first,” Cullen mumbled. “I just realized we’ve never even been in a car together.”

Revving the engine high and shifting hard, she skipped a gear, and a coy smirk hooked the corner of her lips. “Is it as fun as you thought it would be?”

“Watching you red line and shift is far more entertaining than I ever thought possible,” he admitted as his fingers slipped to the inside of her thigh beneath the hem of her dress.

“Hey, I have to drive!” she spat, not truly meaning the complaint. “Can you keep it in your pants for three more minutes, we’re nearly there.”

Cullen laughed a low rumble in his chest. “I suppose,” he began. “But you’ll have to make up for it later.” His fingertips squeezed lightly before returning his hand to his lap with a sigh and Amallia returned the touch in kind.

When they arrived at the bar, they found the lot nearly full, parking near the back. As best as she could, Amallia skipped along in her heels beside Cullen as they entered the rear door, the blast of warm air a welcomed relief. Through the hall to the main room, they found the place was packed. Not as busy as it had been last August, but not far from it.

“Wonder why so many people are out for karaoke,” Cullen pondered aloud.

“With my luck, Raleigh blabbed that I’d be here,” she guessed. “Hopefully, it’s just holiday parties.” She took him by the hand and lead him to the front of the room near the stage, their table already obtained by Krem, Barris, Raleigh, and Ashara.

When Amallia removed her coat, she kept a careful eye on Cullen. The plunging neckline of her black cocktail dress had his attention immediately and she had to force herself not to laugh. He’d turned away as quickly as possible, easily embarrassed at ogling her in public.

“You know you can look at me, right?” she asked as she dragged out her chair.

His eyes returned to hers, flicking down to her dress frequently as he withdrew his own chair and sat. “Oh, I know. Just trying to be respectful,” he sighed and she couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Once seated, Amallia dug the box from her purse and pushed it towards Cullen, who promptly handed her the grey bag. When she withdrew the box from inside, Cullen took her hand in his, stopping her from opening it.

“I didn’t wrap it. I’m sorry. I didn’t have time,” he apologized.

“That’s fine, Cullen, don’t worry about it,” she soothed. “That you got me anything at all is incredibly thoughtful. But you go first, I want to see your face.”

“Me too,” Raleigh blurted from the other side of the table. Amallia held up her hand, a rude gesture in full view of the whole table and Ashara barked a laugh. If there was anybody that enjoyed goading Raleigh, it was Ashara.

“Alright, let’s see. To CullenWullen. From Pup,” Cullen started with a laugh. “Wait is this …” he trailed off, eyeing the wrapping paper closer. “Are those little swords? And little Mabari? Where did you find such paper?”

Perfectly observant, as always. Amallia laughed her lilting laugh, so pleased that he’d noticed. “It was a roll they had where I picked up the gift. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“Well, you have wonderful taste in gift wrap,” he jested. “Now?”

Amallia nodded vigorously with an excited clap of her hands and then Cullen tore into the paper revealing the small square box beneath. The securing flap parted from the cover and Cullen flipped it open to withdraw a small, dark, wooden box, the same sword symbol from the wrapping paper engraved on top. Observant as ever, Amallia watched as he inspected the box, giving it a thorough once over to find the hinge at the back.

When he lifted the top, a song started playing, and Amallia saw a light in his eyes that made every moment she had spent searching, every early phone call, every late evening, all the time spent obtaining the resources to put such a gift together, easily worth every second. He turned his ear to listen closely, eyes widening in recognition.

“In Hushed Whispers,” he stated flatly as he shut the box and the music stopped playing. “Mal, this is … this is incredibly coincidental.”

“What?”

“Open yours.”

Her brow furrowed in mingled suspicion and confusion. “Cullen what are you …” she paused, pulling the cover off of the box to find a smaller, flatter version of the same wooden box she had just given him. Except where the stylized sword was engraved on his, hers showed the all-seeing eye, wispy tendrils snaking out in all directions embossed over a short sword.

She threw one more quick glance at him before lifting the top, only to hear the love theme she had written playing the second she did.

Maker damn him, she was  _not_  going to cry. She promised herself that, no matter what he gave her, she wouldn’t cry. But she’d prepared herself for a straight-forward gift; jewelry, tickets to a show, scandalous underwear even, anything a  _normal_  person would get their new girlfriend for Christmas. That had been silly, she knew. Cullen was anything  _but_  a normal person. And he had gotten her nearly the same thing she had gotten him.

“Do you …” he began, but Amallia refused to let him speak further. In a blur, she was in his lap, kissing him deeply, and the Void take anybody that had a problem with it.

When she parted from him, her face flush and hot, she returned to her seat. “I love it.”

Cullen licked his bottom lip, and she could see the glassy daze in his eyes at her sudden affection. He leaned in close to whisper to her, hand at her thigh once again. “And I love mine as well.”

“I may vomit if you two keep that up,” Raleigh jested with a smirk of his own. Cullen lobbed the wad of wrapping paper at him, only for Raleigh to catch it easily.

Their moment ended then as the DJ announced karaoke night begun and a rush of regulars lined up with cards already filled out. Amallia sighed, preparing herself for the onslaught of holiday songs she could hardly stand to hear once on the radio, let alone from amateurs at karaoke night.

Her dower thoughts lasted mere seconds before she heard it. Whispers, patrons of the bar, mumbling as they noticed her, recognizing her purple curls tumbling over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes,  _and hey, isn’t that the fan she kissed at the August show, yeah, that’s him, look, it’s that blond underwear model, they’re here together_.

A quick glance at Cullen assured her he had not heard a single word of it, engrossed in conversation with Ashara – about work, undoubtedly – and Amallia attempted to block out the incessant buzz of comments all around her. No, she wanted to tell them, she would not be singing tonight. While she’d enjoyed karaoke in the past, karaoke at Christmas was something in which Amallia did not participate.

The hours dragged, Cullen and their group making small talk as each new singer took the stage.  _The Christmas Song, Sleigh Ride,_ too many renditions of  _Santa Baby_ , but then someone had half the decency to break up the holiday monotony with a classic rock tune,  _Lovin’ Every Minute of It_. Amallia sang along and Cullen couldn’t stop staring, attention completely diverted to her as she writhed in her chair to the music.

When the song ended – all too soon – Amallia excused herself for the bathroom, drink running through her. Gone for only a moment, she returned to find a fresh drink before her seat and Cullen beaming up at her with his own drink in hand.

“I thought you may want another,” he said, lips brushing her ear and leaning over to her so she could hear him over the music.

Stubble rasped and skin connected, electrifying and blazing heat, as Amallia turned her cheek into his. “Thank you,” she replied. “Maker knows, I could use a few of these.”

Lips, his on her cheek, planting a firm yet tender kiss there as a hand cupped the other side of her face. “I know, pup. I’ve heard,” he explained. “Maybe after tonight, I’ll be able to sympathize with you some.”

What in the Void was he talking about? “Cullen,” she stated flatly as she sat back from him and the current singer finished his song. “Is there something I should know?”

“Only that the music box was half of your gift,” he explained with a smirk and sat back in his chair, watching the new woman on stage sing  _Think!_  and Maker bless her heart, it was another welcomed break from the onslaught of holiday cheer.

As another hour trickled away, and patrons left, one by one or in pairs or groups. A few disappointed fans of Amallia’s left when they’d found it apparent she wasn’t going to be performing at all that evening. Though she felt a pang of guilt, she tried her best to not let it get to her.

Midnight came and went, uneventful. She wondered who would sing  _Closing Time_ tonight. Would anyone even want to sing it? If it came to that, she imagined straggling fans would ask her to do it. And she would. Just the one song couldn’t hurt, right?

She stood for the bathroom once more, but before she could take two steps, Cullen stood quickly and grasped her hand. He turned to her, eyes pleading and he asked, “Can it wait? I … have to show you something.”

Andraste’s flaming sword, he was acting strangely tonight. She’d hardly seen him so nervous, so unsteady. She could think of only a single moment since they’d met where he had leaned on her for support, but he was doing it again, the need all too apparent. She felt the furrow of her brow smooth, lips easing into a small smile.

“I suppose,” she began. “I didn’t have to go anyway. I’m just incredibly tired of all the Christmas music.”

“Can you stomach one more? For me?” he nearly begged and she opened her mouth to answer when the DJ called out Cullen’s name. Her teeth clicked shut in surprise, eyes widening as he grinned his impish grin he always gave her when he had some sort of sneaky plan.

“Alright,” she finally said as she returned to her seat. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“You have  _no_  idea,” he shot over his shoulder as he headed for the stage and Amallia had the sudden urge to stop him, but forced herself to remain seated. With a deft hop, Cullen was on the stage and approaching the DJ, mic in hand. The DJ began talking as he handed him the mic, Cullen nodding all the while. Amallia read a “good luck” from the DJ’s lips, coupled with an incredulous raise of his brow and a laugh.

Cullen approached the mic stand, face an unreadable mask. She knew that face, the face of stone, for she wore it with well-practiced mastery. That was the face of a performer, one who was about to do something that everyone would see and hear and it would either be glorious or a complete train wreck.

“This … is a very special song,” he began, leaning into the mic stand and a smirk finding the right corner of his lips. “I found it on Amallia’s holiday playlist. Believe it or not, she  _actually_  does like Christmas music,” he muttered with smarm and the bar laughed along with her friends as they glanced at her.

She hardly noticed. Mentally, she scanned her holiday playlist, quickly discerning only a couple of songs he could have picked, and all but one had already been performed that evening.

“I caught her singing it in the kitchen the other day,” Cullen continued with a waggle of his eyebrows that could only mean one thing. “She was  _dancing_ , too.”

When it dawned on her, she gasped, face burning as her cheeks reddened, and she shouted, “No, Cullen, are you serious?!”

Nobody heard her. The had song started, volume creeping up on the speakers and sounding much like any other cheerful Christmas song, drowning her out. She buried her face in her hands, shocked that he would do  _anything_  like this. When he began to sing, her breath caught in her throat, bracing for her impending embarrassment.

> _While the jingle bells are jinglin’_  
>  And the snow begins to fall  
>  And my grandma makes some gingerbread cookies  
>  Just across the hall
> 
> _I’m freakin’ ‘bout what to get you  
>  And it suddenly occurs to me_
> 
> _The best Christmas present is to ROCK YOUR BODY UNDERNEATH THE FUCKIN’ TREE!_

Her jaw dropped. She’d never seen Cullen dance by himself. It was usually her dancing around their apartments, music constantly playing. And of course they’d danced together, but this? Amallia was positive she’d never even seen him wiggle a hip or shake his ass, but holy Maker and Andraste and her favorite fucking  _mabari_ , Cullen was thrusting his hips in time with the music so obscenely, she could hardly believe her eyes.

> _I wanna rock you hard this Christmas!_  
>  I wanna fill your stocking with my candy cane of joy!  
>  We’ll have a very merry mother fuckin’ Christmas  
>  I’ll drive the love train down Santa Claus lane  
>  I’m your little drummer boy

Amallia couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard she’d cried. Payback. It  _had_  to be payback for the way she’d embarrassed him at her show last August. Their friends, shocked with the same laughter, teased her relentlessly, watching her wallow in her embarrassment.

The moment she thought she was safe, that at least he was still on stage, she shouted her own cheer as Cullen stepped down and stalked to her before the next verse. Their friends cheered wildly as, in complete retaliation, he straddled her left leg, his knee planted firmly between her thighs on her chair as his fiery amber eyes glared into her blue pools.

> _While the eggnog is all noggy_  
>  And the fireplace all a-glow  
>  While our bodies are heatin’ up in yuletide  
>  places down below
> 
> _I hope you like my present_  
>  It was way too big to wrap  
>  I’m gonna get naughty all over your body  
>  Come sit on Santa’s lap!

She screamed a laugh so loud over the obscene shouts and catcalls of their friends as Cullen rolled his hips, grinding against her, and leaving little to the imagination. Maker’s breath, she knew she was in so much trouble and this was only the beginning of his payback. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he moved, he wanted her, needed her badly, and with his performance – Maker  _damn_ those hips – she wanted him, too.

The chorus repeated and the bridge was, if at all possible, the most ridiculous part of the song. But the outro was the perfect ode to  _The 12 Days of Christmas_ , and Cullen’s obnoxious dancing set her off in another fit of embarrassed laughter.

> _And the world will start rejoicing_  
>  And the choir boys start to sing  
>  And the lords a-leaping give the ladies in  
>  waiting their five ass golden rings  
>  And the seven pipers are piping  
>  The eight maids are milking in the snow  
>  And I’ll be happy when I’m getting’  
>  unwrappied by my Christmas ho, ho, ho!
> 
> _Have a very merry mother fuckin’ Christmas_  
>  Peace on earth, we are the world, and frickin’ kumbaya  
>  Have a very merry mother fuckin’ Christmas  
>  Deck the halls with your Christmas balls  
>  Fa-la la la-la la, FA LA LA!

He left her not a second to breath when the song ended, planting his lips on hers, and the deep, smoldering kiss consumed her. Krem, Raleigh, Barris, and Ashara screamed their applause, clapping and cheering, and other patrons joined in, shouting obscenities and teasing them with catcalls and whistles.

He broke their kiss too soon, grinning his wicked grin at her. A deep breath did little to steady her spinning head, and she saw the rush reflected in Cullen’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he began into the mic. “That was … a little self-indulgent.”

If  _that_  was self-indulgent, she could hardly imagine what was in store for her when they would stumble back to their apartments. Cullen returned the mic to the DJ, who gave him a thumbs up and a compliment on a well-done performance. He stepped down from the stage, and Amallia saw the slight unbalanced dizziness that always followed a performance like the one he had just given. He slumped into his chair next to her, grin yet plastered to his face as she launched herself into his lap once more, arms wrapping around behind his neck. Her lips landed on his for another fiery kiss and his hands found her hips, fingers digging in with a greedy insistence.

Air, she needed to breath, lungs be damned, and so she pulled back, breaking their kiss with a gasp. “Maker, Cullen, what was  _that_?”

With his own coy smirk, he leaned in close to whisper.

“Merry Christmas.”

 


End file.
